


a strong enough foundation

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: scattered collection of fic prompts actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've come of age with a young nation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna throw all my prompts involving the Hamilton kids here. Some are AU, some could feasibly fit into the historical timeline, but they're based in the musical.

Dinner parties at the Hamiltons aren’t rare; Burr’s office remains in New York, though he visits less now with his Senate affairs keeping him occupied. Still, when invited, Aaron arrives on time, always brings a trinket for the children or a basket of fruit as any proper guest should. He makes marvelous conversation, choosing topics that are unlikely to offend but interesting enough for a crop of New York’s political elite.

Alexander finds Burr repulsive as a sentient human being, but in his presence he forgets, easily, how the genial exterior hides so little substance. He actually finds himself enjoying the other man’s company at this particular feast, Eliza’s mission to butter up some of Angelica’s high society friends visiting from London.

Between conversations with each other littered with vague references to Things, obvious inside jokes and topics men are generally excluded from, the women seem particularly drawn to Burr. Alexander finds himself in a state of anxiety not unlike the one at his first audience with George Washington; the difference being that he would later come to understand the man as well as he loved him and he still has not managed the former with any woman not in possession of the Schuyler surname.

“Imagine if women could vote,” Burr muses when the latest, a Ms. Alden, practically swoons in his presence while debating a bit of judicial procedure before she’s whisked away. He’s joined Hamilton near the hearth, the two of them leaning easily against the wall, drinks in hand.

Alexander mulls it over for a second. “I might run for president.”

“You might have reconsidered publishing the Reynolds affair,” counters Burr, giving him a knowing look. Hamilton can barely find it in himself to take it personally; Burr has always professed caution.

“I might have.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Somewhat.”

“Hmm. Hindsight.”

“Burr,” Alexander says abruptly.

“Sir.”

“Was that an actual opinion?”

Burr’s brows furrow, as if replaying their conversation. “What are you referring to?”

“Women’s right to cast a ballot. You believe they should vote, don’t you?”

Whatever crack had opened in Burr’s wall, he seals it immediately. He gives Hamilton a wry smile, gaze flickering over to where their children have begun to scuffle– and where his daughter seems to have gained the upper hand. “For as long as my youthful looks still hold, I suppose. Theodosia!”

Little Theodosia releases Philip from a headlock, darting across the room to cling to the hem of her father’s jacket. She grins up at Alexander, who flashes her a wide smile in return. Precocious, sharp-tongued Theodosia has never missed a dinner party with Burr at the Hamiltons and, unlike her father, is never shy about her thoughts.

Surprisingly sophisticated ones, for her age– she’d gone toe to toe with Philip once on who should have the last slice of pie and she’d managed to convince Eliza to share it among the younger children (of which she was one) while the eldest in attendance (Philip) acted as a model of generosity. A masterful bit of politicking Burr still ribs Alexander about.  _If women could vote_ , he’d said then, clearly picturing her as president; as Alexander had done numerous times with Philip.  _If they could hold office._

Burr notices the appraising look Hamilton levels at his daughter, a speech already formulating in his mind– Alexander’s had precious few people to discuss certain topics with; most of the men uninterested in hearing about such things as  _voting women_  and most women in the Union not educated enough to hone his rhetoric (and alas, his precious Angelica now too close to Jefferson and too trusting of his wiles, darling Eliza having banned politics to maintain peace in her home).

Momentarily, Burr considers engaging him. Then he remembers the last time he’d been stuck in a meeting with Hamilton and decides against it. “Excuse us,” he says, taking Theodosia’s little hand and leading her away. “I believe Ms. Alden is in want of our company.”

“Burr!”

Burr turns, half-looking over his shoulder in mild surprise. “Hamilton?”

Alexander’s frustration soaks every word, his piercing eyes locked on Burr’s face. “You’re right, you know.”

“Your input,” answers Burr, his voice carefully neutral but his expression softening, “has been duly noted, Alexander.”


	2. Chapter 2

“That’s  _wrong_!" 

Eliza’s head snaps up at a sharp reprimand from the living room, but she relaxes when it’s followed by a peal of laughter. Angelica looks at her, a warm smile on her lips as they stand in unison and shuffle to the doorway, peeking around the corner. 

(Daughter) Angelica, barely fourteen, elbows Philip in the ribs, then repositions her fingers over the keys of her beloved piano, big brother following suit, trying and failing to look solemn as she launches into the umpteenth repetition of her favorite minuet.

"I’m not wrong,” Philip insists, his own fingers nimbly but directionlessly tapping across the keys, “it’s just like how Father and I play.”

“Father can’t play the piano either,” little Angelica retorts, but she grins up at him. “Philip, can’t you take this seriously, just once?”

Eliza stifles her giggle into a hand, exchanging a delighted look with her daughter’s namesake, eyes brimming with love. “She really is just like you.”

“Oh,” Angelica whispers, “enjoy this while it lasts, dear Eliza. I was a terror!”

“‘Was’?”

“Don’t you start.”

Laughing, Eliza takes her sister’s hand and squeezes it. “Little Angelica wants to learn more advanced French as well. I told her to ask her father, I really cannot help her with that.”

“He could stand to be at home more.” Angelica’s head rests gently on Eliza’s shoulder, a fond look on her face. Alexander is wonderful with the children, Angelica knows– loving and indulgent, stern when required– but if only he would spend more time with them. “Philip looks so much like him.”

Eliza doesn’t concur out loud, but Angelica knows how much she misses her husband some days. He’s a busy man, and there are few gaps in his schedule reserved for his family. “Alexander was a lonely child,” she says instead. “It does my heart good to see Philip and Angelica have each other.”

“And we had each other.”

“And Peggy!”

Angelica pulls her away from the door toward the kitchen window, swinging their clasped hands as she always used to do. “Eliza,” she says, almost breathless with happiness, “I won’t be home long, but do let’s have dinner with Peggy, the Schuyler sisters back together at long last.”

“She’s coming over tonight,” answers Eliza, looking both smug and elated at Angelica’s gasp of pleasure. “I’ve started preparing already.”

Sweeping her into a crushing hug, Angelica laughs into Eliza’s ear and kisses her cheek. “Oh Eliza,” she whispers fiercely, “I’ve missed you so.”

“Don’t leave again, Angelica,” Eliza pleads, “my heart can’t take seeing you and losing you so soon again.”

“Your words make leaving more difficult than you can know. And your face, and all your beautiful children.” Angelica winks, a wicked smile brightening her features with all her old mischief. “Maybe your husband would have more success convincing me to stay.”

“Angelica!” Eliza exclaims, putting on a scandalized expression to mask her barely-contained laughter, “You’re a married woman!”

“I’ll lend you John,” Angelica continues, squeezing Eliza close while she squirms to get away, “I don’t know how he’ll measure up to Alexander, but I believe I’ve taught him well.”

Eliza finally stops resisting, falling against her sister with a mock-despondent sigh. “What would my Hamilton think, hearing himself discussed as if he were a piece of meat?”

“A very fine piece–”

“Angelica!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the prompt: Eliza and Phillip being happy :'c

His first day back from boarding school, Philip wrangles both his mother and Angelica into their reading room, ushers his sister to the piano and taps out a beat for his accompaniment. Eliza watches in amusement until he comes to her, starts drumming his fingers against their ornate cedar table, correcting her until she has the rhythm down exactly.

“Alright,” says Philip, taking a drink of water and clearing his throat. “Been a couple months since I seen my mother and my sister, now my rhymes are hot like no other, they’re gonna blister–”

“Oh Philip,” Angelica sighs, though she doesn’t stop playing, “not again.”

“I used to think Angelica’s my best friend,” Philip counters, “but she ain’t that supportive. Some days I’m like, ‘sis, this isn’t gonna end, just throw out an adjective!’”

“Weak!” calls Angelica.

Alexander Jr. storms in from the kitchen, where he’d apparently been trying to rustle up a late evening snack. Adoring little brother that he is, he cups his hands over his mouth and gives Philip a loud ‘OOOOH’ before running to Eliza, plonking himself onto the couch next to her. Philip nods in approval, winking briefly at little Alex before resuming. “Pops is not home but he’s been writing me letters, says he’ll take me to Congress to mingle with my betters.”

“Not until you’re older,” Eliza tells him.

“Yeah, someday I’m gonna be just like my father, when the ladies see me they’ll get all hot'n– um–”

Philip falters; before he has a chance to retract or recover, a dischordant clang blares from Angelica’s corner, where she’d propped her arms on the keys of her beloved piano and dropped her head onto them.

“Philip,” Eliza says, her voice deceptively sweet, “your brother is eleven.”

“Right, Ma.” Philip takes another long drink of water, looking sheepish as he desperately casts around for some reason to slink out of the reading room and away from his mother’s stern glare. “Sorry, Ma.”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” Angelica chirps, flashing her brother a mischievous (if loving) grin, “he won’t be getting ladies anything for a few years yet.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: ham/eliza/laurens, happy au involving all three of them interacting with the hamilton kids

“Now Philip,” Hamilton says, settled on his haunches trying unsuccessfully to reason with his wailing toddler, “you’ve only stumbled. You had barely half a foot to fall and you landed on the region of your body best designed to take it. Surely it can’t have hurt so badly as to bring on a reaction such as this?”

Philip pauses. At Alexander’s anticipatory grimace, the child inhales deeply and lets loose another ear-splitting screech. Not two seconds later, someone storms into the office, catching the door just before its knob can knock a hole into the wall. Laurens pulls to a stop behind him, his knee brushing Hamilton’s side. “Philip,” Alexander tries again when John doesn’t move to help him, “your father is a very busy man. Stop smiling, Laurens, my son is in distress.”

“You are adding to his distress.”

Hamilton waits for Philip to pause for breath to glare over his shoulder. “Where is my dear Eliza? He tripped, and now he won’t stop crying.”

“She’s resting, Alexander.” Unhelpful traitor; John shifts his stance and crosses his arms over his chest. “You have no one but yourself to hold to account for her inability to ascend stairs with any speed. I come in her stead.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t spent so much time at home that I know how to comfort my son. He only cried for sustenance and clean diapers in his first few months, and the former was not my responsibility.”

“Here.” John plucks a quill off Alexander’s desk and motions for him to move aside. Kneeling in front of Philip, he waves the feathered end of the quill in front of the boy’s eyes, his own gaze following it with avid interest. “What’s this, Philip? A quill? Look at how marvelous this quill is!”

“A quill?” Alexander says, his expression incredulous. It grows even more so when Philip stops sobbing for a blessed second, his eyes wide.

“A quill! Do you want it, Philip? I want it very much, quills are quite wonderful.”

Philip reaches for the pen, his tears forgotten. John gives it to him, curls his hands under Philip’s armpits and lifts the boy to sit against his hip. “He wasn’t hurt when he fell, Alexander, only startled.”

“I don’t see how a quill can distract him so easily.” Hamilton winces when Philip snaps the shaft of his pen. Privately hoping that the shortness of his memory and lack of respect for writing instruments comes from the Schuyler side of his son’s parentage, Alexander takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wipes Philip’s eyes. “At least choose a more substantial plaything for the boy, John.”

“He will stab himself with one of your dip pens,” says John, pulling the pieces of feather out of Philip’s hands and setting them back on the desk to discard later, “then we both must answer to Eliza.”

Hamilton loses himself for a moment in the image of Laurens holding his son, his expression gentle and indulgent while he makes soft, cooing noises to soothe the boy. When Alexander shakes himself out of it, he places a grateful hand on John’s shoulder and squeezes. “I have much work remaining to me. I shall try to get him to sleep.”

“I’ll take him, Alexander.” John doesn’t take his eyes off Philip, now bouncing him slightly and returning each cheerful gurgle with a quiet chuckle of his own. “Finish writing, then come downstairs.”

Laurens leaves before Alexander can protest. Office quiet, he decides that John and Eliza of all people would never begrudge him an extra hour to finish the last of his letters.

He sits, picks up a pen, dips it in ink and rereads the sentence he had been interrupted in the midst of. Hamilton goes over the same half-sentence five times before he gives up, dropping his pen in the bottle before pushing back his seat. When he reaches the den, he peers around the door before announcing his presence. John still has Philip, the baby now sleeping against his chest as he and Eliza lean close, heads together, whispering.

Eliza catches his eye first, her stomach, impossibly, even more distended than Alexander remembers it from the morning. He approaches, settles on his wife’s other side and flings his arm over her shoulders.

“You said you wanted to watch him,” Eliza says before anything else, giving him a reproachful look for reneging on his offer. “And John ended up fetching Philip downstairs anyway.”

“I’m here now, dearest. I’d underestimated the amount of attention one must pay to an almost-two-year-old.” Before either of them can tease or lecture him, Alexander powers through. “When he was gone from my office, I felt so bereft of his presence and voice that I couldn’t focus at all, regardless. I’m here now, Betsey. Do forgive this inadequate husband.”

That seems to mollify her, for the moment. After another, Alexander decides that their seating arrangement left much to be desired. Standing, he prompts Laurens to move and he settles between them, reaching for Philip. When John transfers his son back to him, moving so gently and slowly that Alexander nearly feels his heart stop, he finally relaxes.

John sighs in relief. Draped bonelessly in his seat and allowing his head to rest on Alexander’s shoulder, he practically mirrors Eliza on the other side. 

Philip burps a little. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hamfic prompt: hamilton goes upstate with eliza and angelica.

Philip loves visiting his grandfather. Compared to the bustle and noise of the city, he gets to roam free on endless acres of greenery, pulling little Angelica after him to collect bugs and pet as many horses as they wish. Alexander finds it not-unpleasant, but so much distance between himself and New York City puts him on edge. He’s not suited for the idyll of a country estate.

Angelica knows it. Eliza knows it. Their journey to Schuyler Mansion is almost unbearable for Alexander; traveling by carriage is more comfortable by far than galloping for hours on end and the conversation is enjoyable as always, but the children– who have never tested his temper and indeed have no idea that such a thing might exist in their loving father– bring him dangerously close to sternness.

“Papa,” Philip says, his nose plastered to the glass window as (sister-in-law) Angelica muffles a laugh into a delicate fist, “are we close? When will we arrive? Are we in Albany yet?”

“Philip,” Hamilton says, a desperate edge in his voice, “we told you ten minutes ago that we are three days away from Albany. How much time would that leave, then?”

“Two days,” little Angelica answers solemnly, “twenty-three hours and fifty minutes, Papa.”

Eliza’s smiling; the Schuyler sisters, Alexander thinks with no small amount of resentment, seem to be enjoying his misery. Still, anxious as he is to return to work, to a desk and a pen undisturbed by the rattle of a horse-drawn carriage, his son and daughter are suddenly rapt, clamoring to play games with their father. “Give us another one,” Philip demands, crawling into his lap as Angelica settles with her namesake. “Please, Papa?”

Angelica leans toward Eliza, whispering something into her ear that causes them both to collapse into laughter. Alexander regards them for a long second, acting the thoughtful tutor while his son tugs on his lapel. The women look younger even than the day he’d met them, clever and sharp, more welcoming than any of the men he has to deal with in Congress. 

“If Papa leaves Yorktown at two o'clock in the afternoon,” Alexander addresses to Philip, “And he has a meeting in… six days in Philadelphia, three hundred miles away, how many miles must Papa travel each day to arrive on time?”

Philip begins the calculations on his fingers, brows furrowed in concentration. Turning to Angelica, Alexander takes her little hands in his and squeezes. Two years younger than Philip– she has no grasp on multiplication. “If Grandpapa has sixteen cows,” he says, piquing her interest with the animals she loves to watch, “three chickens, and seven horses, how many animals are on his estate?”

Angelica looks eerily like her elder brother, feet swinging as she counts on her fingers, tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth.

Alexander falls back, basking in the quiet of the carriage while his wife and sister-in-law mime applause, the two of them looking for all the world like co-conspirators on a mission to force him into a state of utter relaxation. “You could test them on Bible verses next,” suggests Eliza, “if you remember them, Alexander.”

Angelica chimes in, voice bright with a challenge, “They are making good progress in French as well, mon frère.”

“And they will no doubt make me proud in both,” sighs Alexander, “as I will have two days, twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes to find out.”


End file.
